


Angels Show Up in the Strangest of Places

by ChiasmuSpadex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3357584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiasmuSpadex/pseuds/ChiasmuSpadex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a cacophony caught in the Christmas blizzard; hardly the place for anything melodic. Then again, angels show up in the strangest of places, there to prove a certain grouch wrong. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels Show Up in the Strangest of Places

**Author's Note:**

> AU, where Sam is involved in some legal practice, Dean is a mechanic. And well, Cas? You'll see. This is my second Supernatural Christmas story and I think I should take a break.

The question of "Why?" struck him like a baseball bat to the temple, knocking him to next Tuesday with a concussion. There was nothing remotely profitable from making such a loud racket every day of the week before Christmas, and there was nothing remotely pleasing about it. Sam was prudent enough to recognise that Dean hated the carols, where upon the frustration from the grumpy complaints, the younger Winchester wrapped up a nice pair of earmuffs few Christmases ago. However, with great amusement, the muffs were rainbow and fluffy, and only warmed the ears rather than block out the sound. Sam took great pleasure seeing Dean adorn them once on that particular Christmas day, and the several times he wore them beneath a thick hoodie on dark, wintery nights. Even so, it was rare that Dean even saw Sam, as the latter was caught up in his mildly successful legal practice, whilst the former was found in Bobby's garage covered in a layer of oil and grime maintaining his own car more than anything else.

Eggnog was great for blocking out the choirs that came knocking on the creaky front door, where reality and Christmas lights spun around and around, and any cacophony, whether originally pleasant or otherwise, was just simply ambience. Sure, Dean mistook his right hand for his left and his high five slapped Sam's cheek rather than the palm, but alcohol remedied the singing nonetheless. Bobby disapproved most of all, but drank his share, and held his liquor better than the Winchester boys.

The first Christmas in this small house, which Dean bought as soon as he racked enough cash from the garage, was spent with too much tinsel from the corner store and a tree made from stacked up beer cans. Sam understood Dean's condition, but spoke little of any monetary concerns as he piled the presents in his brother's lap. It worked to shut up the once amusing commentary about how crappy those singers were. Bobby almost misheard, his brow crinkling as he prepared the eggnog. Then again appreciative comments from Dean were always the same:

"I don't deserve all this, Sammy."

"Yeah, you do Dean. You're my big brother, so you deserve bigger things. Everything is to scale."

"Nah man. You keep getting me way too much. I should be stacking up the presents for you, being the big brother and all."

"That's not true Dean."

"You're breaking my heart boys. Open the damn presents or you aren't getting eggnog." Bobby threatened, and they shut up.

And so it continued in this cycle before Bobby could not physically show up anymore as Dean took over the business, and Sam's work was piling up too much to visit every year.

Now, Dean could comfortably sit alone on his tattered couch, the TV crackling with the seasonal cheesy movie, and the beer bottles stacked higher and higher, until no more could fit in the bins. The rainbow earmuffs were wrapped around his head and the blankets pulled tight over the layers of jackets like a kebab, with a stray hand holding the eggnog he had originally swapped for beer.

The sign nailed to the door should have been obvious enough to stop the continual knocking on the wooden surface, but obviously this carol singer could not read. Nearly splattering the eggnog as he slammed it down on the coffee table, Dean levered himself upwards as he shook off the blankets and nearly stomped his way to the door. Twisting and pulling the knob with a powerful whoosh, it nearly tore the door from its frame, and the cold winter breeze punched him in the face.

"Can't you read the si-"

He was not much shorter than Dean, wrapped warmly in a tan trench coat that bulged from the layers beneath, with an equally warm look on his face. There was nothing remotely Christmassy about him, except the mittens he wore, bright and knitted crimson, with reindeer and holly sewn on the back. His dark hair flared in multiple directions as if he just woke up, lightly dusted with the powdery snow of the night. He held himself with a firm posture, shoulders thrown back and trying to find its dominance underneath the oversized jacket. All the while, those intense blue eyes, deep and unwavering, stared at Dean with such vigour that it had the power to shut him up. And so he did.

"Good evening. You must be Dean Winchester."

And, for the love of God, his voice was deeper than his blue, blue eyes, rumbling and commanding like a distant earthquake. Dean swallowed.

"Y-yes I am. The sign. No singing, ok?"

"That I can't promise. Although, I don't think my voice would be heard quite as well with those on your ears."

Dean's hand went up and gingerly stroked the fluffy, rainbow, embarrassing, not soundproof earmuffs. That was until he realised that he was still wearing them, and ripped them off viciously, throwing them behind him as nonchalantly as possible.

"Oh those things? Yeah they aren't mine."

The stranger at the door nodded solemnly. "I'm Castiel by the way."

The mitten hand extended towards Dean, and he shook it briefly.

And without further ado Castiel began his performance, eyes closed softly and head slightly tilted towards the heavens. Dean was momentarily at loss, confused as to where the sound came from, and why it was so calming, soft like a lullaby, but powerful enough to keep him standing firmly on his feet. He honestly had no idea what Christmas carol this was, and how it almost stirred him as if he was drunk, the melody whisking around his ears and gracing his soul.

The hush of the winter night returned as Dean stared in awe at the man at his door, his arms cold and numb by his sides, but the heart warm and satisfied. His legs were frozen, maybe from the temperature or otherwise, but he could not move as that warm face looked up at him again, blue eyes finding the green.

"You have the voice of an angel," Dean uttered, finally finding the words to shatter the silence.

"Angel voices are high in frequency and human ears are susceptible to bleeding when such wavelengths are heard. However, if you mean the metaphor, I thank you for your flattery. I am rarely exposed to such kind words." Castiel replied, his voice deep and rumbling once more.

"Um, nice knowing you, and thanks for the carol."

"Likewise and your welcome."

They stood facing each other, the doorframe between them, before Dean hushed a goodnight and Merry Christmas. The door closed with a click, and the feet pattered away.

* * *

"Something happened last year."

It was not a question, so Dean did not answer as he sipped his eggnog quietly. Too quietly in fact, as not one single complaint roused up his emotions or tugged annoyingly in Sam's ears. The rainbow earmuffs hung around his neck and a hand reached up to touch the rainbow fluffiness absently. His green eyes glanced towards the pie that was already half- eaten, avoiding his younger brother's scrutinising stare.

Sam knew. As to the particulars, he knew not. The sign was still nailed up on the door and no knock graced the wooden and splintered surface, but something was off. There was already that crater blared open from Bobby's absence, his soul now wandering heaven rather than the earth, but it was something the brothers have somewhat comes to terms with, even if it stung. However, it was as if gravity shifted, if his right hand was now his left, if he was the mechanic and Dean was the lawyer, if…

A rapid set of knocks fired against the door. At the same time, Sam shot upwards. Oddly, so did Dean, and he padded towards the door naturally, throwing the earmuffs behind him. Straightening his jacket, he clicked the door open and the hush of the winter night kissed his warm cheeks.

The muffled "hi Castiel, hello Dean" exchange was brief, before the melodic tunes rose into the night and through the house like a cool draft. Sam slowly eased himself down, head cocked and ears enraptured by the poignant carol. Perhaps not a silent night, but a holy night indeed, where it was graced by the voice of an angel, and the lyrics weaved through the very fibres of Sam's heart.

Finally the door clicked shut, the earmuffs removed from the floor, as Dean returned to his seat, sipping peacefully at his eggnog. Judging by the where the eggnog was filled to in the cup before and after, Sam concluded that the drink was untouched. The voice itself was enough to get drunk on.

"So." The younger Winchester started, putting his drink down. "Castiel."

"Yeah, cool guy, great voice."

"Since when did you like carols?"

"I never did."

Sam nodded slowly. "So when did you like Castiel?"

Dean spluttered on his eggnog, before slamming it down on the table, coughing. "I never did," he uttered huskily, after he partially recovered.

" _Right_."

"What Sammy?"

Sam smiled internally. "Nothing."

* * *

He took an early holiday from work, and made avid efforts in helping Dean in the Christmas decorations. Sam focused mostly on the hallway to the door, pinning up the new bunting that spelt out "Merry Christmas" on shimmery foil, and hints of tinsel from the first time Dean bought the house. A final touch on the door frame, and he waited for the day to come.

And it came with a wicked cruel bluster, the wind kicking up the snow in thick white drafts. Dean would glance frequently towards the garage, hoping the structure would hold in the blizzard. His Impala was parked in there, blanketed with a car cover to prevent even the smallest dust particle from gracing the polished black surface. Even though it was a robust vehicle, travelling more miles than the total length of the American roads, he was afraid to drive it through this weather. Sometimes those green eyes would glimpse crestfallen at the door too, even hours beforehand, but Sam said nothing about the longing gaze.

Dean was quiet about the carol singers like the few years ago, earmuffs comfortably around his head and hugging the ears with its rainbow embrace. Both brothers were wrapped tightly and neatly like Sam's presents, and the eggnog stayed untouched on the table. It was too cold sacrifice the heat for alcohol, so they sat in their bundles chattering away as the icy winds screamed like a banshee outside the windows.

Even in this weather, the familiar knocks hounded against the door, and Dean hopped up immediately, almost knocking the drinks over.

"Seriously, in this storm?" Dean muttered as he etched over to the door.

His hand weaved out and embraced the cold knob, and with a click, the winds nearly pushed him over as the door slammed into the wall. But there Castiel stood, unperturbed by the storm as it swished around him, dragging his long tan coat and hair with the blizzard. It was as if he was the eye of the hurricane, unwavering like the blue steady gaze. However, his line of vision quickly looked upwards, and Dean followed suit.

Mistletoe.

"I don't think considering you know…" Dean began. He was going to kill Sammy for that. No wonder he was so keen about the damn holiday all of a sudden.

"I don't understand." Castiel kept his eyes up as he spoke, and the elder Winchester shuffled over to allow him in.

"It's tradition when you stand under mistletoe, you have to uh..." He cut himself off, as he focused on closing the door against the wind. Snow had already piled in the entrance and he shoved it way by freeing his limbs from the blanket wrap, and kicking it with a swing of his leg.

"Kiss. I understand. Very much so," the visitor replied, shaking off his coat that was almost soaked through, the telling and very dark patches near the bottom hem showing that he walked. He ran his hand through his wet straggly hair, twisting the already messy locks into another scruffy look.

It was only then that Dean noticed how he was a breath away from Castiel's face, and his back pressed against the door. The mistletoe hung gleefully above, coated with a sprinkle of snow, and he wondered how it stuck so stubbornly onto the frame despite the blustery winds that blew inside before.

"So…" He started before Castiel tilted his head.

"What I don't understand is that it isn't tradition to kiss under holly. The small, near unnoticeable red berries determine that."

"Wait, what?" Dean pulled back immediately, the back of his head and the band of the earmuffs knocking against the door.

A sharp sound erupted from the next room, and it took a while for both of them to rush towards it and register the origins of the noise. It was Sam laughing, rolling on the couch in his blanket layers, clearly so pleased with himself.

"Uh Cas, this is Sam. Sammy, this is Castiel," Dean tried.

It did not help as he continued, the words "I knew it" squeezing through the laughter.

"Hello Sam." Castiel also tried.

It was a while until Sam's amusement ceased, the energy spent from the outburst unravelling the tightly bound blankets. His hand reached for the eggnog, using it to sooth his sore throat that resulted from laughing. It was not the most helpful thing, but temporary relief was all he needed.

"Dean. I knew it."

"You made a mistake Poindexter. That was holly."

"It was intentional Dean. I wonder who would notice first, you or Castiel. It was a test, honestly."

"A test of what?"

"Where the dedication lay."

Castiel nodded in understanding as he was handed some eggnog. "You are very prudent, Sam."

The younger Winchester glanced at the grumpy Dean. A string of coarse vitriol exploded from the latter's lips, blaspheming enough for angels to fall and the church to self-ignite. He frowned as much as his brow could define his absolute and burning infuriation. Castiel regarded it as a natural disaster as the profanities swirled around his peacefully seated self, and he continued to drink his liquor nonchalantly.

Mad at both of them, Dean retreated to the kitchen to get more alcohol.

"I hate Christmas carol singers," he muttered to himself as he slammed the fridge door close with a resounding thump, the beer bottles rattling inside.


End file.
